D. and I are having an ongoing conversation about zombies, survival and end of the world scenarios. She's started watching The Walking Dead, which may well have been my favorite show of last season (this season's premiere was a little slow with all that traversing the woods stuff).
Zombies are my guilty pleasure, sort of. Vampires, witches...so done. Of course, it helps that both Shaun of the Dead and Zombieland were two of the funniest movies ever. The daughter watches Zombieland every chance she gets, and probably has seen it 50 times now. Shaun of the Dead is a little more disgusting, but Bill Nighy as a zombie? Priceless. And Coldplay zombies...even if we had to watch the movie's grossest scene 3 dozen times to figure out which ones they were. And I really liked 28 Days Later, which was a perfect meditation on the infectiousness of rage (honestly, the zombies surprised the hell out of me. Went into it with no idea it was a zombie movie).
(The son, who was still pretty young, desperately wanted to see 28 Days Later. So I made it a condition that he also had to watch Danny Boyle's Millions, and I turned it into a lesson on film making. He was still trying to climb into my lap by the end of 28 Days Later, but he learned an appreciation for Boyle's technique. And I'm so damn clever that now he wants to double major in theater and physics. Or something. *roll eyes*)
At the beginning of the year, when I was spending untold hours huddled in various angles of repose trying to shut my screaming nerves up, I watched a lot of movies, mostly because I was in so much discomfort that I had little ability to concentrate on anything, and if I happened to fall asleep, or my mind wandered, no loss. It turned into something of an apocalypse marathon--along with the occasional Euro-romance--in part, because that was about all that was on. The Book of Eli, The Road, zombie this that and the other thing, super bugs making crazy people, you name it. It was the end of the world as we know it, and no one was fine.
It's a sign of the times, of course. The banks and governments and corporations are the blood-suckers; consumers the fast-moving herd of zombies.
Lessons! They're everywhere!
And, of course, The Walking Dead is full of morals, too. Who, really, are the walkers? The zombies or the displaced survivors? (Or, if lessons aren't your thing, you can just take untold joy in tough guys threatening to feed a good guy to their dogs...who turn out to be fearsome little pocket puppies.) Do you stop and let go of life or keep moving, hoping for better?
My Apocalyptathon came at the time when I'd almost lost basic ambulation, and was facing the possibility of its permanence (the permanent loss--sensory and function--ultimately shook out at about 20-30%). I was dead to the world there for awhile, pretty literally, as I lost myself within myself, trying to figure out a survival strategy, or if I even wanted one. I have little memory of the first six or so months of this year, it was such a struggle. It's hard to accept that I no longer have a state that can be considered 100%--and never will again. So it goes. I'm learning to work with what I've got. It's what survivors do.
The world kicks my butt.
At least for now, I can still kick back.
Go listen to some good music: "Arriving Somewhere But Not Here" from the album Deadwing by Porcupine Tree.